The Collector
by Agent Henry
Summary: A year ago, James Potter cheated Death after a Quidditch accident. Now, exactly one year later, Death has come to collect what is his. James can run but he won't be safe for long. You can't hide from Death.
1. Spare Me Another Year

"And that's a goal for Gryffindor!"

The crowd was buzzing; there was screaming and cheering heard and red and green covered the stands as the students of Hogwarts supported their teams.

James Potter hovered over the Gryffindor stand and closed his eyes, a grin etched onto his face, taking in the houses' excitement for the school's Quidditch final; Gryffindor vs. Slytherin. It was like a drug for James; the games, the rush he felt chasing the snitch, the sound of his name being screamed as he caught the small, golden ball, winning the game. This was what he was famous for.

Opening his eyes, he scanned the pitch, looking for a glimmer of gold. A flash was all he needed for encouragement; he pushed his Nimbus forward and chased it, flying faster than he thought was possible. Or was he just imagining it due to the excitement?

A line of green drew his attention and, on closer inspection, James saw Scorpius Malfoy, Slytherin's seeker, gain speed, catching up to the snitch. It seemed as though they were head to head, either could catch the snitch, but James was closer, he could feel it. The snitch was his. With that thought, James pushed forward, becoming a blur of red.

James heard shouting around him; mostly cheers, but one voice sounded more serious than the other. He couldn't make out who they were or what they were saying. He had no idea where they were coming from either, so James ignored them.

"Potter!"

The voice was becoming clearer and he saw Scorpius turn his way.

Why wasn't he going for the snitch?

"Potter, move!"

"What?" James yelled.

Scorpius pointed in front of James, just to his left. "Move, James!"

But it was too late. The bludger hit James in the chest and he heard a horrible cracking noise. The force of impact caused him to fall off his broom and he couldn't breathe. Then everything went black.

xXx

James turned frantically from left to right, turning in circles, trying to figure out where he was. Wherever he was, was a blindingly bright white but James had no desire to shut his eyes. It reminded him very much of what his father, Harry, had described when he talked of what happened after Voldemort had 'killed' him, except here looked nothing like Kings Cross, clean or otherwise. It just looked like a... Room. It was completely empty, besides himself; no furniture, no doors, no anything. He was all alone.

James took the opportunity to look at himself; he was also white, the same white as the room; his shirt and his pants looked blinding. He was barefoot and looked paler than he normally was.

He ran a hand through his hair. _Either I'm crazy and this is one of those hospital rooms or this is..._ He looked around again and it seemed to fit his thought... _Heaven?_

"Hello, James."

He turned to the new person in the room, though how she got there confused him. She was beautiful, James couldn't deny. Her hair was jet black and cascaded down her back in waves. Her eyes were chocolate brown, warm and soothing. Her dress was white like his and she was also barefoot and pale.

_Suits her though_, he thought. There was something about her, though. James couldn't think what it could be, but he didn't like it. He felt cold.

"Who are you?" he asked.

She smiled softly, "I have many names."

"What are you?" he corrected.

"Death."

James froze; if she was Death and this was indeed Heaven, as he'd thought, then he must be...

"Am I dead?"

She was still smiling and James didn't like it; it wasn't cruel but it wasn't nice either, it was just there, as if that was how she looked all the time. "Yes."

A shiver washed over him but it was gone in an instant, leaving a strange sense of calm. And that scared James more than anything. _It must be this place._

"How?"

"You don't remember?" James could have sworn she looked confused for a second.

He thought, "I was hit by a bludger and I fell of my broom."

She nodded, "the bludger broke your ribs, constricting your heart and lungs; you couldn't breathe and passed out. The force of which you hit the ground fractured your skull and broke numerous other bones and a piece of rib broke off piercing your heart; you bled out. That's what killed you, though any one of your injuries would have ended your life eventually." She turned to face him, her face passive, "it was quite quick."

James felt like he was going to be sick for only a second before the sensation left and he was calm again.

"What is this place?"

She looked around, "a sort of limbo. This is where people come to decide."

"Decide?"

"Yes," she nodded. "Do you want to move on, cross over, or do you want to stay on earth, with the living, as a ghost?"

"Can't I stay on earth alive?" he asked desperately. He was only eighteen; there was still so much in life he wanted to do. He hadn't even graduated Hogwarts yet. He couldn't leave everything behind; his family, his friends, his life. James didn't want to die.

"It doesn't work that way, James."

"You said you were Death, you can make it work!" he shouted. "Not that I truly believe what you say," he said as an afterthought. "I expected Death to be a skeleton donned in a cloak with that long axe."

He saw a flash of anger in her eyes, "silly stories you humans made up. I can take any form I please."

"Do anything you want to, I bet."

"Of course," she answered, proudly.

"Then bring me back," James demand. Then he sighed and pleaded. "Please. It's not my time. I want to go back to my family."

"No."

James did not cry, but right now it seemed impossible not to. But he could feel no tears. "I'll make a deal," he all but whispered, running out of ideas. "Just give me a few years."

He had barely blinked and she was so close, he could feel her. Her breath was cold against his face. "What will you give me?"

"Anything."

She held his face in her hand, studying him, and she moved closer. For a second, James was sure she would kiss him. Then she moved back, her hand now to his chest. "You have a year then I get you."

"A year?"

She nodded again, and James wanted to hurt her, and that smile was back. "A year is long enough."

_Long enough for what?_

"And what will you do with me?" He had to know, had to ask. "Will I come back here?"

"No," she replied. "You won't get to move on and you won't get to stay as a ghost. You'll stay with me... Forever. Forever's a long time, do you want to reconsider?"

"I'll take my chances," James said adamantly. "How will I know when my time is up?"

"You'll die the way you died today, only it'll be much slower; every injury will happen slowly and your last days will be painful." She cocked her head to the left, her hands behind her back. "That should give you enough time."

"Enough time for what?"

She looked at him contentedly. "To say good bye." James gulped. "Are you sure you want to do this?" He nodded. "Can you put your family through that; let them get you back just so they can lose you a year later?"

James hesitated before answering. "Take me back."

The room began to darken, as if the light was running out, and Death began to fade. "Wait!" he shouted. "Will I remember this when I wake up?"

"When you're ready?"

Then everything went black.

xXx

The first thing James heard was a number of concerned voices. His mother was one, his father another, though his brother, Albus, and Scorpius stood out above the rest. "He's moving, I swear it."

"There was no pulse," Albus tried not to shout, though there was no anger in his voice, only sadness.

James tried to open his eyes. "Look. Watch his eyes."

He could feel his brother stare and succeeded in opening his eyes. "James!"

"What happened?" he asked quietly.

"You tell us," Albus demanded. "You weren't breathing a minute ago."

James rolled his eyes and sat up slowly. "Obviously I was."

"No," Harry answered from his right. "A fall like should have killed you, it did kill you, you had no pulse. But now your awake."

"You sound disappointed," James retorted. Though he could tell James was joking, Harry spoke seriously, "of course not, nothing is making me happier than seeing you awake. I'm just confused."

James shrugged, "I guess I'm just lucky."

"Lucky?" Albus pulled a face. "It's an absolute miracle. Someone up there must like you."

"Yeah," James said, feeling weird for a second before the feeling disappeared. "What about the game?" he asked, standing up fully. His mother, Ginny, chose the moment to hug him, squeezing him tightly, afraid to let him go.

"Time out," Rose told him, moving in-between her two friends. "Scorpius chose to try and help you instead of catching the snitch."

"Why?" James asked.

"Wouldn't be fair if I caught it just because you were hurt, would it?" Scorpius said, smirking a little. "I tried to warn you. I didn't have time to push you out the way."

"I know," James said. "It's not your fault. Besides, I'm fine, so I say we get on with the game. This is my last Quidditch final before I graduate; I intend to win."

"Are you sure you want to do this?"

James turned quickly; he'd heard those words before today, he was sure of it. "What?"

"Are you sure you still want to play?" Harry asked again.

"Oh. Yes, I do." James looked up at the sky, sure it was a little brighter and whispered, "it's what I'm here for."


	2. Open the Door to Heaven and Hell

James pushed the doors open backwards, while balancing a pile of files in his arms. He caught the bottom of his pants with his foot, trying to turn around, and just managed to stay standing. He caught most of the files, but he groaned as one fell to the floor, it's contents scattered around him.

"Here, I've got it." He watched as the young woman picked up his papers and studied them. "The championship game," she nodded appreciatively. "You were so lucky, everyone wanted that story. But you deserved it, James." She placed the file back on top. "Here you go."

"Thanks, Kate," he grinned. "For helping me and for the compliment; not many think so."

Kate laughed as she took some of James' papers and walked with him to his desk. "I know they are saying you only got it because of your mum but don't listen to them, they're just jealous." She placed the files on his desk and looked up. "Speak of the devil," she murmured.

Ginny Potter raced past them, shouting orders. "James, I want that story on my desk in an hour, no exceptions. Kate, you're an investigative journalist, not sports, why are you still here?"

"I was just helping James; he dropped some of his work," she nodded to him and he picked up the file. Ginny nodded once, accepting their answer and carried on walking. "She's extra busy today. Is she always like that?"

James shook his head, sorting his work into the order of what was most important this minute. "Only at work. Where I happen to work. How many people get to say that their mum is their boss? I hate it."

Kate snickered. "Where you expecting special treatment?"

She expected him to smirk and play along or even agree; she didn't expect him to scoff. "No way, I don't even get special treatment at home."

He put the files at the bottom of the pile away in a drawer and sat down, taking the top two in his hands and placing the others to the side. He read through the piece that needed to go to Ginny soon, making sure everything was there, only looking up when he saw Kate sit on his desk instead of leaving. "Why did you become a sports journalist? You had offers to join the best teams but instead you chose to write about them."

James placed his work back down and leaned back. "After my accident last year, I wasn't afraid to get back on a broom, not even close, I still play. But I realized that I prefer it more as a hobby than a job. What happened to me could happen again and, as much as I loved Quidditch, I didn't want to risk putting my parents through that again. I'm safer with my feet on the ground."

"You gave up Quidditch for your parents?"

"Don't tell them, they'd freak about how I shouldn't give up on my dreams for other people, I've already had that speech," James answered. "But I didn't just give it up for them, it just wasn't for me in the end."

Kate sighed but eventually smiled. "OK. Why journalism, though?"

"Easy," he grinned. "I love to write, my essays at school were always the longest. It came naturally to me. After I gave up professional Quidditch, I wondered what else I was good at. I thought of writing and I wondered about how amazing it would be to write about what I love; sports journalism. Now, here I am, a little junior."

"Who gets the best stories," Kate added.

"Because he's good at his job," he finished. "Speaking of jobs, why are you here?"

Kate's jaw dropped in mock horror and she faked a dramatic gasp. "How could you not know?" James shrugged. She became serious again. "A man died in a Quidditch accident last week, I'm writing about it. You're not the only junior with the big stories." She put a hand on his shoulder. "Some are just lucky, eh? I'll be back later for lunch, right?"

"Right," James agreed. "I'll see you then." He sat on his desk, staring at the piece to give to Ginny, not really looking at it, thinking about what she had said.

_Some are just lucky_. He had been thinking about his accident a lot recently. His dreams of that day didn't make any sense; it was so white. And he had no idea who the woman was; her face was unclear, but something about her scared him. They had started a week ago and he wished they would stop, but they just kept coming, each dream more vivid than the last.

James didn't know what to do.

xXx

He knocked on the door once, before a voice shouted for him to enter. "You got the story?"

James rolled his eyes; he had barely entered the room. He said nothing, just placed the piece on Ginny's desk. She looked up and read through it, a small smile formed on her face. By the time she had finished and looked up, a grin had taken it's place. "This is really good, James."

"It would have been here earlier, but I was just double-checking everything."

"I'm glad you did," she said appreciatively. "You can go to lunch with Kate now. Good work."

He smiled. "Thanks... Boss." James walked out of the office hearing his mother laugh. He jogged back to his office and picked up his jacket, putting it on just as Kate came.

"Ready to go?" she asked.

"Yeah," he answered. "Just give me a -" James called out in pain and fell to his knees, clutching his desk for support.

Kate went to his side and grabbed his shoulders. "Are you alright?"

James nodded weakly and put a hand to his left side. "I think I've done something to my ribs. I have no idea how, though."

Kate helped him stand and kept an arm around his waist. "Come on, I'm gonna take you to St Mungo's. Somebody to Ginny where we are, tell her it's OK, we're just checking and not to worry."

James let Kate lead him to the fireplaces and floo to the hospital. Once in the emergency ward, she sat him down and ran to the receptionist. He blocked out her shouting and closed his eyes so he could no longer see her pointing in his direction, trying to ignore everything, including the pain in his side.

"Come on, James, a healer is on their way to see you." She took his hand a led him to a private room. Inside, he walked quickly to the bed and lay down.

"Ow," he murmured as he pressed too deeply when sitting. He lay there in silence for a few minutes until a Healer came.

"Hello again, James. It's been a while," she said.

James turned and smiled. "Hello Hayley, how are you?" He remembered the last time he had seen her; not long after his Quidditch accident, he dislocated his shoulder falling off a ladder. Why his Aunt Hermione wouldn't let him use magic to do it, he didn't know? It would have been easier and he wouldn't have ended up in hospital, because his brother let go. He enjoyed the small amount of satisfaction that came when he saw Albus; he still felt guilty.

"It should be me asking you that, James. What happened?"

"We don't know," Kate answered.

The Healer looked confused. "What do you mean?"

James thought about sitting up, but just the thought made him cringe in pain and he decided against it. He pointed to his side. "We were standing by my desk, about to go to lunch and all of a sudden I felt this crack and pain in my side. We have no idea what caused it."

The Healer walked across and felt James' side, taking into account the look on his face when she pressed into where he was talking about. "It seems you've broken a rib, James. You don't know how?" Both James and Kate shook their head. "Well, not to worry, I can fix it."

She took out her wand and pointed it at James' side, muttering a healing spell. She frowned and did it again. And again. And one more time. "That's odd."

"What? What is it?" James asked, panicking.

"Your body won't let me heal you."

"What?" they both shouted.

"I'm sorry, James," she apologized. "But you're gonna have to let it heal the Muggle way." She told him to take off his shirt and left, coming back minutes later with bandages and a potion. She wrapped the bandages around his waist and held them in place. As soon as he had his top back on, she held up the potion. "This will help with the pain. Drink some every four hours, you only need a tea spoon full. Come back to me if you need more." She left him alone.

James nodded slowly, tempted to lie back down to stop the pain, but thought against it; he'd probably never get back up. Instead, he took some of the pain relieving potion and sighed in relief when it started to work.

"Sorry to say this James, but you have the worst luck."

He turned to Kate. "How do you mean?"

"About this time last year, you almost died in a Quidditch accident," she reminded him. "Now this. It's like Death has a hold of you."

Death. James' dreams came back in full force and he covered his face with his hands. The accident, the room, the woman. The deal.

_"Will I remember this?"_

"When you're ready."  
  
He remembered. He was ready. He checked the date; he died a year ago tomorrow. The deal was almost up. It was his time to die.

"No!"

"James, are you OK?"

He moved his hands to see Kate standing in front of him, concern etched on her face. How was she meant to tell her what was happening? How could he tell his best friend he was going to die tomorrow? He couldn't do it. So, he nodded. "Just a little pain. Could you get me some water before we leave?"

"Sure," she whispered. "Stay here and I'll be right back." He watched her leave, then got off the bed and and pulled on his jacket, wincing slightly.

He had opened a door but no way in hell was he going to walk through it.

There was only one place he could go.


	3. Taking Hold of Me

James kept his call brief; he'd waited until he had known the school day would be over before calling his cousin, knowing exactly where the kid would go. The school was trying to accommodate Muggleborns, as well as anyone else who used technology, staying 'with the times', as Roxanne would say, but Hugo was one of the only people who actually used the room where Muggle equipment could be used, mostly because the room was faulty at best. James had held his breath as he dialed, relieved to even get through. He told Hugo where he needed him to go, that it was important, and begged him to keep it quiet. He knew his cousin would come and that he'd do as James wanted; Hugo loved secrets and when they were kept from their family, to know something they didn't, that was even better.

James hung up just as he got to the visitor's entrance, almost gasping. Each step had been painful, it was like the potion had worn off too quickly. Death didn't want him to die easily, painlessly; this was his consequence for his deal, he knew. So, he gritted his teeth and he stepped inside.

The Ministry's atrium was far from empty, but thankfully not so full that James had to worry about being knocked into. He weaved through crowds all the way down to the elevator, waiting for one to empty before entering, then he pressed the button to his desired floor.

The Archives was empty apart from the bored looking woman at the desk in front; it would be, he knew. Not many people came down to the Archives; this was where the cold cases and old, solved Auror cases came, where the records of every witch and wizard in Britain was stored, where old or banned magic was kept locked up so not to fall into the wrong hands. Occasionally law enforcement would come down, or anyone who needed to see or change their records. No one was allowed in, the woman would get it. James knew of only one person who not only could successfully sneak in, but did so frequently, who knew so much more than he should because of it.

The Archives was Hugo's playground.

James stayed by the elevator, hidden from the older woman's view and waited. It was almost twenty minutes before Hugo stepped out of the elevator and James didn't ask how his cousin had managed to get out of school. That wasn't his problem right now.

"Get us in there, Hugo," he whispered.

With a slightly suspicious look, Hugo pointed his wand at James then himself and muttered a spell, then started walking. James followed cautiously and was amazed when the woman didn't look up or notice anything at all; Hugo had cast two successful disillusionment charms.

"Where are you?" Hugo asked as soon as they stepped through and he'd taken his off.

"Right in front of the door. How are you able to use magic?"

Hugo pointed his wand, hitting James' arm when he cast the spell, and watched him expectantly. "I found a spell in here that blocks the Trace. You look like crap, what's up?" James shook his head; he knew he'd have to tell his cousin, Hugo would never stop asking, it was just too hard. Hugo was the youngest, just sixteen years old. He shouldn't be burdened with James' mistake, but he had to tell someone. "What are we looking for?"

"A book for summoning Death," he whispered, grasping his chest again.

"What? Why?" Hugo asked, paling slightly as his mind came up with possible scenarios. "James, what did you do?"

"Did you know that when you die, you're given a choice as to whether you move on or become a ghost?" he asked. Hugo shrugged, muttered about reading theories. "Well, sometimes the person, or thing, that gives you that choice can bring you back. For a price."

"How would you know that?" Hugo asked. The answer came to him as soon as the question left his lips. "The Quidditch match last year. You _did_ die."

"The one who gave me my deal was Death, disguised as a girl. She gave me one year exactly."

"Tomorrow," Hugo whispered, remembering the date James had fallen off his broom as though it were yesterday. It had left their family shaken and protective for months. They'd only just gotten over it. "You came back just to be taken away a year later? Why would you make such a selfish deal? Why would you put your family through that again?"

"Because I was too scared to die," James cried. "Now she's killing me in the exact same way I died last year, only it's happening slowly and more painfully. She's breaking my body one bone at a time and I need to talk to her. I'm not waiting till it's killed me. Help me, Hugo. Please."

"What are you going to tell everyone? What are you going to tell your parents?"

James tried to shrug, dropping his shoulder quickly when pain shot through his body. "I don't know. I'll think of something. I'm good at that."

Nodding cautiously and wanting to hate James just as much as he hated the situation he'd been put in, Hugo wiped away the few tears he hadn't even felt falling, and pointed to a shelf of books at the end of the row in front of them. "I read a few books on Death here. It seems like a good place to start."

James followed and they got to work, reading through every book they could find for as long as they could; Hugo had to get back to school before people realized he'd gone and James had to get to his apartment with a reasonable enough excuse as to why he'd left Kate in the hospital before he saw her. He knew she'd come, scared, yelling at him for demands as to what's going on, but he knew already that she'd never know. He couldn't upset her, she couldn't hate him for being selfish and stupid. Hugo had already started to ignore him, refused to look at him.

"Here," Hugo muttered after an hour of searching. He threw the book in his hands onto James' lap and got up off the floor. "It's supposed to be a summoning spell, but it's not only dark magic, but it's so old. Like before the Founders'. I don't even know if it works now."

"Thank you, Hugo," James told him sincerely, grimacing as he got to his feet. "I'm sorry I'm putting you through this. You're the only one who could have helped me."

"You're an idiot, James," Hugo said without malice. "To do something like this? Something as stupid as making deals? I've read enough to know that they _never _end well."

"What would you have done, Hugo? You can't tell me you'd have just died! You wouldn't have tried to save your own life?"

"Is that the normal thing to do?" he asked. "If you want someone to say that you did the right thing then you're talking to the wrong guy; I take life as it comes and if I'd been in your shoes, then I can say that, knowing who I am, I probably would have died."

"Maybe I should have talked to Al," James muttered, then regretted even thinking it. His brother was the cautious one, a constant worrier; who knows what he would have done if James had told him. No, he was safer talking to Hugo.

The look his cousin's face told him he thought the exact same thing.

"But I probably would have done something to save the life of my family, which means I don't particularly hate you for what you're going to put us through when I'd put them through the same thing to save you," Hugo finished quietly, almost reluctantly. He'd never say this if James weren't dying.

Then Hugo did something James didn't expect; he hugged James, quick and before he could make a noise in protest. It was barely enough to touch his ribs, let alone hurt him, and James found himself grateful that he'd gone to Hugo for help, that someone would know what was really happening and be able to care about him now.

"I assume you're going to act like nothing is happening, so not to worry the family now, which means I'll have to be in school and pretend I don't know when you... when it happens," Hugo whispered sadly. "So, now will be the only time I get to do that. The last time." He furiously wiped away the tears falling down his cheek and pointed his wand at James, then at himself. "We should go."

Hugo didn't take off the disillusionment charm until they were safely in the elevator, the book hidden in James' jacket. They didn't speak until they were outside and around the corner.

"G-good-bye, Jamie," Hugo said quietly.

The weight that word carried on his cousin's shoulders was not lost on James and a lump formed in his throat.

"Good-bye, Matty," he murmured the boy's middle name, the name he preferred to be called when around people who didn't know him because it didn't sound as old and weird.

With one last nod and the smallest of smiles, probably because of the name, Hugo went back inside to Floo to school, leaving James alone with the book. With a heavy heart, he started the thankfully short walk to his apartment.

He didn't get far; the pain caused him to fall to his knees and he grasped his sides, knowing that the snap he'd heard was his own ribs.

Death was getting closer, taking hold of his body, his life.

James knew what he had to do.


	4. The End is Here

James took more of the potion he'd been prescribed, hoping to ease the pain just a little, and hid the book safely under his papers in his desk drawer. He was lying on the couch, with his left arm over his chest and his right almost covering his eyes by the time Kate came in, yelling at him. She was near hysterical, tears pouring from her eyes and down her face. James considered it a wonder she could see at all.

"I cannot believe you, Potter! To make me leave and then to just take off like that. I was worried sick, I searched everywhere for you! I came here twice just in case I missed you! How could you do that, James?"

He held up a hand, a silent, desperate plea for her to stop, hoping the throbbing headache would stop as well. It didn't. "I'm sorry, Kate. I was just scared; something's wrong and magic isn't healing me and it just all became too much in that room, like it was closing in on me. I just had to get some air, then I started to wander around and I lost track of time. I came straight here as soon as I realized I'd left you, because I knew you'd come. I'm so sorry."

The lie left a horrible taste in James' mouth; he couldn't remember ever lying to Kate before. But he knew it was the right thing to keep what was happening from her; she'd never understand that he was really dying, that Death was killing him. She'd try to be rational, try to help. Only James knew what he had to do. He had a plan.

And a book.

The sincerity of his apology, though his real reason for apologizing was left unsaid, showed and that was what Kate believed. She started to calm, her tears subsiding, and she crouched down to floor, eye-level with him.

"You had me so worried, Jamie. And your parents," she added. "I'm going to floo call them, tell them you're safe. They expect to see you by tomorrow or they're coming for you themselves."

"Okay," James whispered, the pain relief finally kicking in and making him drowsy.

"That's it?" she asked. "No arguing? No talk about them worrying for nothing? Just an okay?" He nodded and Kate started to look scared again; she put her hand on his head and he winced when she checked his ribs. "Are you sick, James?"

But he'd already fallen asleep.

***

James woke up worse than when he'd fallen asleep; he almost collapsed onto his knees trying to sit up, he suspected another rib had cracked, and the thumping headache had gotten much worse, like his skull was compressing, pushing against his brain. He fractured his skull when he fell off of his broom, he remembered Death telling him. He'd broken his ribs and fractured his skull the first time and they'd happened now; soon enough other bones would break, he knew. Then -

James' eyes when to the clock and he remembered. The game had started at noon amd they'd been playing for a couple of hours before the accident, he was sure. It was almost nine am now; James figured he had about five hours before a piece of his rib broke off and pierced his heart. He had about five hours to say good-bye before he died.

"What a way to go," he whispered to the clock. And for the first time, he regretted playing the game he used to love so much.

"God, James! Sit down. You look like hell!" Kate yelled at him, putting her coffee down to grab his arms.

"I'm fine," he said, trying not to let his voice waver. She didn't look convinced, but he managed, with great difficulty, to stand up straight and only keep a light grip on his chest. She couldn't call him out for that when she herself had heard what the healer had said and she let him go relucantly.

"You're sure you're okay?"

"Yes. I'm going to go see my parents," he told her, going to the fireplace. He had to see them now; he needed time to see Death and he didn't want them to come looking for him. He also didn't want Kate to see.

Kate didn't stop him; she followed him, helped him, stopped him from falling on his face. His mother dropped her toast when she saw him and hugged him gently, keeping her hands on his arms; the healer and Kate must have told her and his dad. He was glad.

"Oh, James, we were so worried when Kate said you were gone," she whispered.

"I'm sorry, I just needed some air. I'm fine."

Ginny stepped back. "Yes, Kate said last night." She held him, examined him. "You don't look okay, James."

"It's just a little pain, I have stuff from the healer; it'll just take a while." He didn't mention that he hadn't taken any today; he knew it wasn't going to work and hadn't bothered. The pain was there either way. "Where's Dad?"

"I'm here," Harry said, stepping inside and taking his turn to hug James. "Don't you ever just take off again."

"I won't, I promise."

He and Kate stayed until lunch, keeping the conversation light and easy; Al wanted a tattoo (they'd said no, but he probably wasn't going to listen), Lily had a new boyfriend (they'd said nothing, it wasn't worth it). He managed a few bites of the sandwich he'd been made before he pushed it away and stood up. They followed him to the fireplace and hugged him again.

"You call soon," Ginny said. "And I'll see you at work if you're well enough."

"I promise," James said again, feeling as empty as he knew the words were. "I love you both, you know that."

"Of course we do," Harry answered, frowning. "We love you, too, James."

"You'd better," he joked sadly. "I'm one of a kind, me. Good bye."

"See you soon, darling."

Kate grabbed his arm the moment they were back in his apartment. "What was that all about? The way you spoke? The way you looked at them? Like it was final."

"I don't know what you mean," he lied, inwardly wincing because she'd seen right through it. Had his parents? "I'm just tired, Kate. Exhausted actually. Fingers crossed the pain will be gone when I wake," he told her, getting back on the couch.

"Fingers crossed. I hate this, but I told my mum the other day that I'd see her today and I have that Quidditch story to finish, so I have to go. But I _will_ be back later."

"I'll see you soon," he smiled. In his head, he was screaming. Kate was going to be the one who found him if he didn't think of something; he couldn't put her through that.

"See you soon."

James watched her leave, getting up the moment he was sure she was at the stairs, and grabbed the book from his desk. Using the desk for support, James looked through it until he found the page Hugo had shown him. Magic had been simpler when these spells had been written; there was no complicated ritual to get through, he didn't need anything except the incantation written down. It was in an old language, maybe Latin, and he didn't understand it. But he could read it and he hoped that was enough.

He tried three times before he was sure he'd gotten the spell right, then he waited and he waited. He tried not to be disappointed when ten minutes passed and nothing happened; Hugo had said that he wasn't sure it would even work. James sighed, looking down at the book; there was nothing else he could do. He was going to die in an hour and half.

"Well, well, has it been a year already James?"

James jumped, crying out when the move caused pain to shoot right through him, and looked up. She looked exactly as she had last year, as he remembered in his dreams. Only this time, she wasn't pale like the room, or surrounded by a bright white light. She looked tanned and her clothes were all black.

She was Death.

"Where did you get that book, James?" she asked, frowning.

"Friends in high places," he answered, shutting it. No way was he going to give her Hugo's name. "So nice of you to come."

"You called me; it seemed rude not to," she smiled. It didn't reach her eyes and she looked angry by the thought of being here. James knew why quickly. She'd been summoned; she had no choice. It seemed Death still had a boss, even if that boss was just a centuries old book. "You're not playing by the rules, James. I told you what was going to happen when you took the deal; you can't back out now. I'll just make dying that much worse."

"You can't blame a guy for trying," he shrugged. "So, we're not even going to talk about it?"

"Nope. Why would I want to? I'm about to claim a Potter." This time her smile did reach her eyes. "James Senior wanted to stay with his wife and Harry managed to stay here, that boy always finds a loophole, but not you. You're stuck."

"I'm just unlucky, I guess," James whispered.

He didn't get a chance to say more; the phone rang and he groaned, letting the machine get it. It was probably one of his Dursley cousins, wanting something. They only called when they wanted something. But it wasn't, it was Kate.

"Hey, James, it's me. I hope you're okay; you're probably asleep now actually. Anyway, I forgot my bag and it's got my work in, so I'm coming back over. I'm around the corner now and luckily my key was in my pocket. I'll be in and out, this message to just let you know that I'm coming. See you in a minute."

"Nice girl, your Kate. She won't be coming, though. Not if the car speeding past has anything to do with it."

"How do you know that?"

"Im Death, I know all. Especially the one's close to death. Her future's hazy; she might survive it, if that helps."

With effort, James got to the window in time to just about see Kate coming their way. On the other side, he saw the car. James altered his plan; he'd just have to give Death his final message another way. Running past, ignoring the pain, James made his way outside. He got there just as Kate was crossing the road.

"You got my message?" she called over.

The car turned the corner, too fast for Kate to be warned. He ran, screaming her name in warning, and pushed her out of the way.

The impact didn't hurt like he'd expected. James rolled along the road, stopping on his back by the curb. The pain was gone, too, and Death was kneeling down watching him.

"You brave fool," she muttered appreciatively, looking across from them. James watched Kate get up and run to the body in the road, begging him to wake up. It was him, he realized. That was why the pain was gone; he must have died instantly. "To make that sacrifice. I almost want to give you back," she said, holding out a hand.

James took it and pulled himself up, dropping it quickly. "Am I...?"

"You're not a ghost."

James kept his eyes on his friend, who was calling for help. "But she can't see me."

"That doesn't make you a ghost." Death held up her arms. "Welcome to Reaperland. But why did you do it?"

"You said I had to die today, you said it was going to happen in the same way, but you didn't say I couldn't change it," James said, curious as to what 'Reaperland' meant. "I go on my own terms, not yours. I summoned you, so that you could see that."

"You've surprised me, James, that doesn't happen often."

Death let him stay with Kate, with his parents when they came to the hospital, long enough for him to know that they knew Kate's story, that only Hugo would know what could have happened. He hoped Hugo would be proud; a deal hadn't killed him, he'd saved a friend. Hugo couldn't hate him for something he'd have done himself. And he was proud to have gone this way.

"I'm sorry this happened to you," Death said and she looked so uncomfortable that he knew she'd never apologized before.

But why would she? Death was a natural part of life to her. He had disrupted that natural balance when he'd made that deal and now they'd set it right.

He shrugged. "I should never have made that deal. You can't hide from Death."

"Not when you've made a deal, no. But I'll tell you a story about a man who did manage to hide once," she grimaced. "I want my clock back one day."

"What cloak?"

Death smiled and gestured for him to follow. James took one last look at his family, then started walking. The end was finally here.

He hoped the new beginning wasn't so bad.


	5. O Death

James' funeral was the next week. Everyone he knew came; his family, even the Dursleys; his friends from school; friends from work; old school teachers. The little church in Godric's Hollow was packed, but no one cared. They were there for him.

He was proud that his father wanted him to be buried next to his grandparents, next to Remus and Tonks - Harry had thought Remus would have liked to be with his friends and, after a long talk, Andromeda had decided to bury her husband and daughter there, too, so she could visit them both - and next to Sirius' plaque. His body was with his namesakes, his family, even if the rest of him was unseen on earth.

James had been told by Teddy as a child that Harry had been there for Andromeda a lot when his parents had died, especially at the funeral, so he was not surprised to see her returning the gesture. They'd both lost a child; she knew the feeling.

The memory he knew he'd cherish forever was the look on his family's faces when Kate told the church he'd died saving her life, that he'd pushed her away. They'd never know about his deal.

"His father's son," they said.

"A hero," Kate's parents wept when they hugged his mum and dad.

And Hugo did look proud, if only a little. As soon as he'd heard, Hugo had figured out the real reason why James had wanted that book. He was still angry at James for making the deal, but the proud smile was enough. The deal hadn't been the cause of his death, the car had. Death had told him so.

James was sat on a gravestone, not too far from where he was being buried, when he felt her presence. She kept the pretense of being a girl, to ease him into this life, she'd said. She was Death, the original Grim Reaper, she was able to change at will. The others, the ones like James who had become bound to Death, could change where they met the dead, but they couldn't change their appearance. James would always be himself.

He was glad. It made this life easier, being a Reaper.

Death had spent the day explaining it, what he was and had to do. He'd made a deal, bound himself to Death, so he was a Reaper for all eternity; he had the lives of every living soul in his head, knew who was close to death, who was ready to die and who wasn't. He had to talk to them in a surrounding of his choice, give them the choice of moving on or becoming a ghost. And occasionally, he could make a deal. James didn't think he could ever put a person through what he went through. But his deal had been his choice and to take away another person's felt wrong, too.

Some Reapers stayed around hospitals, others in hospices and care homes (he'd seen two in St. Mungo's alone). Others chose to wander the earth, keeping their minds open for any accidents, murders or other unnatural deaths. James decided to stay in London; his family couldn't see him, but he felt more at peace staying close by. And he didn't want any other Reapers touching his family. That was not to happen.

Death sat by his side, saying nothing until he finally acknowledged her presence; he turned to face her briefly.

"Are you ready for this life?" she asked.

He shrugged. "Are any of us? It's hard, watching them say good-bye. Knowing I can't see them until it's their time to die. And even that will be brief."

That was something else James had had to get used to; Reapers were not only bound to Death, bound to this earth, stuck. They couldn't move on to wherever people went and though ghosts were bound, too, it was like they were on a different part of 'dead life' - they couldn't see Reapers. Spirits could, people stuck because of unfinished business, before they made the choice. Sometimes a Reaper would help, but they mostly left the spirits alone until it was time for them to choose. Spirits could also be alive, but comatose, like an outer body experience - he'd met a couple of spirits in the past week.

One was his Uncle Fred, who wasn't yet ready to leave his brother. That had been a shock, but at least James had someone to talk to. James promised to help him figure out what his unfinished business was exactly.

"Why didn't I become a spirit, with unfinished business?" James asked. "You'd think I would, being so young?"

"Because your death was an accident, tragic but inevitable," Death answered. "Most spirits are murder victims or, in Fred Weasley's case, they died in war. Their unfinished business is usually justice, sometimes revenge. Other times, they just want to make sure their family are okay before they go. I suspect that's true for Fred; he and George were very close, did everything together. He'll probably go when it's his brother's time."

"Oh. You didn't happen to see Remus Lupin and Tonks, did you?"

"I did. They wanted to make sure Teddy was cared for; they left when they knew he was safe."

James nodded, thankful to know that.

"Are you sure you want to stay here, James? It'll get lonely, only seeing Fred," Death said slowly. "They'll never see you, unless you're summoned, and you still have the book, so that's not likely."

James kept his mouth shut, not letting her know that he'd put a note on top of the book, as well as a charm to keep it locked once it had been shut, before he'd hidden it the night before he'd summoned her, saying that he'd found a cool history book and to give it to Hugo. His cousin now had the book and only his cousin knew what he was.

Hugo had figured out how to open it, as James had known he would, and had already called for him once, morbid curiosity making him want to know what it was like.

"Right," James said instead. "I'm sure I want to stay, they're my family. What can I call you? I don't know how I feel about 'Death'."

Death frowned, obviously she'd never been asked that question before. "Pick a name," she said.

James thought, his eyes on his family, who were starting to leave. His funeral was over; they were going to the wake.

"Gabrielle," he finally answered her.

"The female variation of Gabriel, interesting. Should I be honored to be named after an angel?"

"Yes. You're the Angel of Death, it seemed fitting," James smiled. "I was going to pick Lucy, after Lucifer, but that seemed a little harsh," he joked, getting up. He had a party to get to.

Then he felt it, an unfamiliar pull and a face to go with it; someone had passed away. He had to give them a choice.

"You've got work to do," Gabrielle said softly. "Good luck, Reaper."

_Oh, Death. What have I gotten myself into._

James left. He had a soul to collect.


End file.
